


boy division

by Trojie



Series: Bandom Bingo 2017 [6]
Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alley Sex, Blow Jobs, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Self-cest, The Author Regrets Nothing, Van Days
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-09
Updated: 2017-05-09
Packaged: 2018-10-29 19:53:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10860939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trojie/pseuds/Trojie
Summary: Mikey meets a dude in a bar who has a lot more confidence in Mikey's future as a rockstar than Mikey himself does.





	boy division

**Author's Note:**

> SO okay this is the final form of a long and meandering pathway that started with my Bandom Bingo prompt 'age regression/deaging' and I'm gonna claim that square even though this is ... not quite that. 
> 
> Love and thanks to LadySmutterella and uglowian, as usual, for the cheerleading and hand-holding <333

It's 2am and Mikey Way is druuuuunk and there's this guy over at the bar who's been watching him all fucking night, eyefucking him through the band's set and following him as he said hi to people in the crowd after. Which means it's 2am and Mikey Way is gonna get _laid_. He's got like, a sixth sense about this kinda thing. 

Mikey tilts his head up to finally, finally catch the dude's eye. He's Mikey's height, almost exactly, although it's hard to tell with the boots he's wearing compared to Mikey's worn Converse. His hair's bleach-blond and he keeps having to flick it out of his eyes, which are fucking intense, dark and deep-set in a face that's mostly cheekbone. He doesn't flinch when Mikey makes eye-contact, but he startles when Mikey leans up next to him, though, like he wasn't expecting his fuck-me eyes to actually work. 

'Nice jacket,' says Mikey, relaxing against the bar. It is, too - red leather, thick stitching, heavy. Mikey kind of wants to try it on. 'It'd look better on my -'

'You still live with your parents,' says his new friend flatly, swirling his glass. He's relaxed back into propping up the bar. 'No fucking way is my jacket ending up on your floor, Casanova.'

'So we're going back to your place, then?' Truth is they'd have to, anyway - the band's about to get in a van for two weeks of support shows. Mikey steals the other guy's drink, sliding their fingers together. It's rum and Coke, heavy enough on the rum to fume in the back of his throat, and he grins, warm with booze and the fucking thrill of the chase. 'I can roll with that.'

'Seriously? I could be an axe murderer.' The guy takes his drink back, but he does it by grabbing Mikey's wrist and pulling it close enough to take a long, slow sip. 'And you're, what, just gonna let me take you anywhere I want? Don't you _care_ how I know you still live at home?'

Mikey shrugs. They're touching now, shoulder to shoulder. Mikey fucking _has_ this one. 'Scene's not that big,' he says. 'And I know almost everyone. Someone told you, I guess.' He contemplates twining his fingers around this dude's wrist and just like, pulling. He'd come along. He's been watching - he's been _looking_ \- all night. No-one looks at Mikey like that and doesn't want a piece. 

'Doesn't freak you out that a stranger would ask about you?'

'Nah.' It doesn't. Mikey's used to knowing everyone's business and everyone knowing his. He's literally overheard people saying 'Oh, yeah, Mikey from Eyeball? He plays bass and lives with his mom'. It's not a big fucking deal, jeez. 'C'mon, this place is getting slow. Are we going, or what?' He curls his hand around the guy's forearm, but he pulls away, and leans back against the bar deliberately

He takes another pull at his drink. Mikey rolls his eyes. 'That was a good set you played,' the guy says. 'Fucking brutal.'

'Thanks,' says Mikey, sighing internally and trying to dredge up the neurons for a conversation about music when most of his brain is in his dick or in Ibiza. He doesn't wanna talk about the band, he wants to fuck, for fuck's sake. 'Ray was on fire, and Gerard -'

'I meant you,' says the guy, nudging the back of his hand against the back of Mikey's.

Mikey snorts, because he's not stupid. 'Dude, I suck. I'm like, king of the three-note bassline.'

'So you play simple shit,' the guy says, knocking back the last of his drink. 'Who fucking cares. You got Toro up there being fancy enough for two of you. You were solid, man, I'm telling you, and that's what matters.'

Mikey shakes his head, looking down to hide his smile. He's _knows_ he's not that good, but ... he's working on it. People mostly don't care, anyway. The crowd's drunk and it's not like Otter can keep the fucking beat live. No-one notices Mikey, between that and how fucking good Gee and Ray are. 'Whatever,' he says. 

But his new friend tips two fingers, cold and wet from the glass he was holding, under Mikey's chin and looks him in the eye. There's a sly smile on his face. 'Trust me. I was watching you, kid.'

Mikey Way doesn't blush. It's the booze blanket making him warm, okay?

The guy's hand drops to Mikey's waist, curves and catches his thumb under the waistband of Mikey's jeans. 'So. You still wanna get out of here?'

Fucking finally. 'Thought you'd never ask.' Mikey latches onto this guy's wrist, turns around, and starts walking. Three fingers hook into the back of his belt, and he smirks at the bartender who's shaking his head as they leave. Damn straight. Mikey fucking Way bats a thousand, okay?

'So, where are we going?' he asks when they make it outside again. He spins on his heel and uses the momentum to slide up against his hookup. 'You live round here, or -'

The guy - shit, Mikey probably should ask his name, but he doesn't wanna lose momentum here, he has goals - smiles, one corner of his mouth tugging up high. 'Sorry. I'm just passing through,' he says, and Mikey finds himself up against a wall. 'That a problem?'

'Damn,' says Mikey. He pulls a face. 'I was really hoping to get that jacket off you.'

The guy puts his arms either side of Mikey's head, bracing against the wall. 'I let you take this jacket off me and I'm never getting it back. I'm not that stupid. But I have another plan,' he says. 

Mikey hooks his knee over the guy's thigh and pulls him in closer, squirms up against him. They're both hard, and the half inch the guy's boots give him over Mikey means Mikey can tip his head up just that little bit and look at him over the top of his glasses. 

'Oh yeah?' 

'Yeah,' he says into Mikey's throat, hot and low. 'You let me blow you in this alleyway like a fucking groupie while I'm wearing it.'

Mikey bites his lip and goes to push the guy down but he's already going, leaving Mikey's fingers sliding along the butter-soft leather, scraping for purchase he can't get with beer-sloppy, bass-string numb fingertips. 'Fuck yeah,' he whispers, and it sounds too loud and too dirty even next to a dumpster, somehow. 

The fingers that pull his fly open are rough like his own, rougher, and every touch scrapes sparks the wrong way up every nerve Mikey has, makes all the hair along the nape of his neck stand on end. His head falls back against the wall. The alley air is cold. Mikey is very drunk and that's supposed to take the edge off but it's like this guy knows every hot-spot he has. He slides his hands back around Mikey's ass to ease the jeans down - no underwear, because nothing was clean and shows are sweatboxes and Mikey was either gonna hook up tonight or sleep in his clothes in the van anyway - and those electric fingertips flirt with his fucking asscrack before curving back to hold Mikey's suddenly jerking hips down. 

'Hey, easy,' the guy says, dropping a soft little kiss to the taut skin stretched between thigh and belly button. 'You're a fucking rockstar, lay back and enjoy it.'

'We haven't even officially started touring yet,' says Mikey, choking down a laugh. 'Rockstar my ass.'

'You will be,' says the guy, and kisses the tip of Mikey's dick with his fucking pretty, plush mouth before he opens up and takes him straight down. 

The bottom drops out of Mikey's world. He gasps and tries to hold onto the slippery, clammy bricks at his back, scrabbles at them, trying to hold on to something. Jesus Christ. The guy rumbles in his throat when Mikey moves too much, and pulls back slow, slick lips tight, warm mouth giving way to cold air on wet skin. He pulls all the way back and Mikey thinks he's gonna pull off but he doesn't - he tongues the head slowly, like he likes the taste, and pushes back down again just as goddamn slow. He's fucking himself on Mikey's cock and Mikey's fingertips find cracks in the mortar behind him to keep him upright, but breathing's a lost fucking cause. 

The guy's hands find Mikey's ass again. Mikey whimpers, and the mouth all sweet around his dick curves into a smile - he can feel the movement. Fingers squeeze at him, pull him in hard so his cock ends up flirting with going down that throat, and then his ass is being spread and he's being touched, stroked there, softly fucking petted, and he can't help rabbiting his hips between the tight clutch of hands and the wall and shit, Jesus fucking _shit_ the tiniest softest pressure at his hole. 

''M gonna, shit, fuck, I'm gonna, dude, seriously -' Mikey pants, wrenching his head off the wall and looking down and having to fucking bite his lip to stop himself coming right there on the spot. His knees are weak, he's sagging, the guy blowing him is basically holding him up. 'C'mon, c'mon, please -' He doesn't know if he's begging for some kind of like, bullshit permission to come or for the guy to back off him because he doesn't want this to _end._

What he gets is three fingertips bunched at his hole, not pushing in but lighting up every fucking nerve ending with the idea they could, they might, and a soft, trembling, humming moan around his cock, and all the air rattles out of Mikey's lungs as he comes, so hard his knees seize. 

His heart thuds in his throat and in his ears, an oxygen-deprived rhythm that he flexes his fingers to in desperation, gotta follow, gotta fucking follow. He yanks the guy up off his knees and pulls him in tight, wanting body contact and wanting to feel that reciprocal orgasm, against his thigh and wrapped in his arms and gasped into his mouth. He tries to shove his wall-scraped hands into the other guy's pants but damn they're tight, even tighter than Mikey's. 

'Just - fuck, here,' the guy grinds out, face buried in Mikey's neck again, breath hot and wet and shivery. He grabs Mikey's hand and shoves it between them, humping at it desperately. 'God, you're so -' Mikey feels the guy's dick jerk against his palm and he finds the braincells to curve his hand around it properly, start stroking. He wraps his free arm around the guy's waist, lets him snug into the curves of Mikey's blissed-out body all slumped against the wall, spreads his legs to steady them and, fuck, let him closer, let gravity drag them into the same sphere, because if he could get this dude inside him, all this … quiet fucking confidence and this sex appeal and this chill he somehow has, Mikey'd do it. 

Teeth scrape Mikey's pounding, sweaty pulse, and then he suddenly has a collapsed body against his, wet denim rubbing against the vee of his still-open, still-pulled-down jeans, his desperately trying-to-get-hard-again-already cock. 

'Shit,' Mikey breathes, and he strokes a hand down the back of the guy's neck, where he loves being touched himself. 

He feels the guy swallow against him, and a fumbling between them that resolves into Mikey's jeans getting tugged back into place, his dick getting so fucking gently tucked away even while it's still twitching and trying to argue for a second round. His zipper goes up. Mikey keeps stroking the fuzzy nape of the other guy's neck, his brain all warm and golden on the inside. 'Where the fuck have you been all my life?' he asks, half rhetorical, half a joke. 

Eventually the guy pulls himself together and takes a step back, shrugging like he's trying to straighten himself out, settle back to normal. He reaches out to tweak at the fringe that's in Mikey's face, twitch it out of the way, and smiles. 'Been here all along.'


End file.
